


Here Is The House

by PaintingWithWords (paint_with_words)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Domestic Fluff, Don’t copy to another site, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Established Relationship, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 13:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18700630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paint_with_words/pseuds/PaintingWithWords
Summary: Before Yuuri came into his life, Viktor's apartment wasn't really a home.  He had no more attachment to it than he did to a pair of shoes.  But now, it's where they grow closer together, live and love, and learn more about each other.  It's someplace heactuallywants to be.





	Here Is The House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smolkristen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolkristen/gifts).



> This was my piece for the Dom edition of [Okaeri](https://yoihomezine.tumblr.com/), a charity YOI zine that centered around the idea of home. I am grateful to have been a part of this journey and thankful to the mods for coming up with the idea. 
> 
> This piece is dedicated to [smolkristen](https://smolkristen.tumblr.com/), who is a treasure beyond words.

Viktor bought his apartment after he won his first gold medal at the Grand Prix.  He’d been living with Yakov and Lilia, but things were getting tense in their home.  He wanted a place to call his own, someplace quiet and serene: a sanctuary free from heated arguments and freezing silences.   


The apartment had been expensive and exclusive, a status symbol to show off his newly-minted position as a world champion.  The designer had created a space for Viktor to be comfortable, full of modern and elegant furniture in neutral, calming shades of grey.  And while Viktor’s new home was a beautiful showpiece, it was essentially devoid of any real sentimental meaning for him. Viktor hadn’t picked out any of the furnishings or appliances himself.  The designer had shown him sketches and glossy photos of the furniture he’d selected for Viktor and presented him with a hefty bill for his services.

When Viktor moved in, he was happy, at least for a while.  His living room was luxurious and comfortable; his bedroom was spacious and serene.  His kitchen was a modern marvel, full of stainless steel countertops and appliances that he rarely used.   But, best of all, it was quiet. Blessedly quiet. And it was all his.

The designer gave Viktor a bottle of a special cleaning product for the stainless steel surfaces.

“Your maid service should have the proper cleaning agents,” the designer told him, “but in case they don’t, give them this.  You don’t want the surfaces to become dull and dingy.”

“I intend to do my own cleaning,” Viktor told him airily.  How hard could it be?

“Oh, Viktor,” the designer laughed, “I didn’t know you were so funny.”

But Viktor hadn’t been joking.  He did his own cleaning, because it made his apartment feel more like a home, his home, than a hotel room.  Hiring people to do everything for him made it feel like it wasn’t really his, like he wasn’t really connected to it.

He hired a cleaning service after he won his third gold medal.  He simply didn’t have time to do all the upkeep. And really, who expected Viktor Nikiforov to scrub his own bathtub?   


Gradually, his apartment began to lose its charm.  It felt less and less like a home and began to feel more like an expensive cage.  It wasn’t just quiet, it was too quiet. He’d blare music or turn on the television just so he could actually hear some noise and not feel so alone.   


Whenever his phone buzzed with an incoming text and someone invited him out to dinner or a movie or a party, he went without a moment’s hesitation.  He’d do anything to escape his captivity.

Occasionally, Viktor entertained.  He’d invite friends over for a party that always got too loud, or he’d bring a lover home to try to chase away the oppressing loneliness.  But they were shallow distractions. 

Sometimes, they made things worse.   


Viktor would look at the people in his living room and kitchen, nibbling off of catered trays, and wonder why he had them in his life.  Some of them he barely knew and, more often than not, they were just here so they could say they’d been seen with Viktor Nikiforov, the living legend of figure skating.  He was just another rung on the social ladder to them.

As for those that shared his bed, Viktor was always left feeling hollow and empty after the physical act of love was done.  Was this all there was? What of the songs, the poems, that spoke of how sweet love could be? Surely there must be something more than this.

When Viktor made the decision to go to Japan to train Yuuri, it wasn’t hard to leave his apartment behind.  He had no more attachment to it than he did to a pair of shoes. It was where he slept and kept his things, nothing more.  He cancelled his weekly cleaning service, suspended his meal subscription, hired a few people to pack and ship the essentials, and boarded a plane.   


When he returned after having been gone for almost a year, Viktor was struck by how  _ empty _ his apartment felt.  At first, he thought he was just tired and missing Yuuri.  Oh, how he missed his sweet, wonderful Yuuri! He’d wanted Yuuri to come back with him right away, for them to start a new life here in the city of his birth, but there were agreements to sign, visas to acquire, and preparations to be made.  All of those things took time, so much time…

It would be nearly a month before Yuuri joined him and transformed his life once more.

 

* * *

 

Before Yuuri, the bed had been all his.  Sometimes, he’d sprawled out, arms and legs stretched across the wide surface.  At other times he’d curled up in the middle, surrounded by blankets and pillows, making himself as small as he could.   


But now, the bed was no longer entirely his.  Instead of being able to sprawl freely, Viktor had a side of the bed and a pillow.  If he stretched out, he bumped into Yuuri. Every time it happened, Yuuri pulled Viktor close and wrapped him in a warm embrace.  Every time it happened, Viktor snuggled closer and sighed into Yuuri’s soft hair, grateful for his presence in his life.

Viktor loved falling asleep next to Yuuri.  Once, he had thought it would be awful to share his bed on a permanent basis with another person, but now he wondered how he’d sleep if Yuuri wasn’t next to him.  Often, they would go to bed and lie next to one another, talking until sleep took them. 

If falling asleep next to Yuuri was wonderful, waking up next to him was even better.  It was like a gift from the heavens themselves. Viktor usually woke up first and got to watch Yuuri as he slept, looking as sweet and innocent as a small child.  No one but Viktor knew the heat and passion that lived inside of Yuuri, tucked away like a secret treasure only he knew about.

The mornings that Yuuri woke up first, where he awakened Viktor with soft kisses to the nape of his neck or his temples or his cheeks… those were Viktor’s favorite mornings. The way Yuuri looked at him with those big brown eyes, so full of love and devotion, made him melt.

It wasn’t just Viktor’s bed anymore.  It was  _ their _ bed.   


Viktor had a side of the couch, too.  Before, he’d always had the couch to himself.  Sometimes, Makka would join him, curling up under his long legs and dozing.  But now, Yuuri was there, too. He could stretch his legs over Yuuri’s and Yuuri would rest his arms over them, absently caressing Viktor’s calves while he looked at his phone or read a book.  It never failed to bring a smile to Viktor’s face.

Sometimes, when they watched television, Yuuri would lay his head in Viktor’s lap.  Viktor would run his fingers through Yuuri’s thick hair, marveling at its softness, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.  At other times, Viktor was the one resting his head in Yuuri’s lap, sighing under the gentle caress of Yuuri’s fingers in his hair.   


Sharing the couch with Yuuri was  _ so _ much better than having it all to himself.   


Viktor rarely shopped for groceries before Yuuri moved in.  He’d had a service that delivered nutritionally-balanced meals to his home weekly, as did many of the skaters at the rink.  What little else he needed he could pick up while he was out. When he left for Japan, he’d cancelled the service, but resumed it when he returned, and added Yuuri on as well.   


After a couple of weeks, Yuuri voiced his concerns over the expense.  Yuuri had lived life in America as a college student and an elite skater.  There had been no money for luxuries, as Yuuri called them, such as pre-made meals delivered to his door.  Yuuri had shopped for his own groceries, had done his own cooking, and it was clear he missed it.

The first time they went shopping for groceries had been an oddly exhilarating experience for Viktor.  They’d wandered about the supermarket closest to the apartment for a couple of hours, exploring and discovering things together, and had returned home laughing, their arms full of bags of groceries.

Viktor watched as Yuuri sat down cross-legged on the floor of his immaculate kitchen, bags arranged around him, and carefully loaded the refrigerator.  When he was done, Yuuri got up, dusted off his rump, and looked around in the nearly-empty cabinets and sighed.

“Do you have any food storage containers?” he asked.   


Viktor gave him a blank look.  His kitchen had the basics, nothing more.  There had never been the need for more. 

They ended up going back out to buy containers.  By the time they got home, they were too tired to cook and ordered delivery.  Yuuri curled up next to him on the couch, humming happily as they ate things that were definitely not on their normal menu.

Gradually, the kitchen was transformed.  It was no longer sterile and cold: it became a warm, inviting place.  They learned to work together in the kitchen, to move in concert with one another.  Viktor loved helping Yuuri do something so simple as chop peppers or garlic or slice green onions for later use.  It meant that there was that much less to do when they got home after a long, grueling day of practice. 

Viktor had heard people talk about grocery shopping like it was a chore.  He found it to be a joy. Viktor loved walking around in the produce section or the meat market, thinking of what they’d cook together when they got home.   


A few times, fans spotted them at the grocery store.  Most only waved or said hello in hushed tones, but a few asked for pictures with them, or secretly took pictures as they shopped and posted them to social media, usually expressing surprise that they performed such menial tasks for themselves.  Yuuri showed Viktor one as he was scrubbing the bathtub. 

“See what you’ve done to me?” Viktor said in mock indignation.  “I do my own shopping now, I clean my own home… I’m even cleaning the bathtub!”

“Oh, my poor, poor Vitya,” Yuuri purred, leaning in close.  “It’s so horrible to be domesticated.”

Later that evening, once all the household chores had been finished, they took a relaxing bath together.  Before, Viktor had joked that the bathtub was large enough for two, but he’d never tested it until Yuuri moved in.   


It turned out he was right.   


Viktor settled between Yuuri’s legs and leaned back, his head on Yuuri’s chest, their right hands laced together.  They stayed like that for a while, content to just simply  _ be _ , with no need for anything more.   


In these quiet moments, Viktor felt cherished, treasured, and loved.

The people who wrote the love songs and poems had it wrong.  They didn’t talk about it  _ enough _ .

 

 

  


 

It wasn’t until Viktor met Yuuri that he understood what all those love songs really meant.  The desire to be close to the one you loved, the bond that grew stronger with time… This was what he had with Yuuri.  The passion was there as well, but it was the natural expression of how they felt for one another. Intimacy wasn’t just the physical expression of their love.  True intimacy was  _ so _ much more.   


True intimacy was the need and the desire to share what lived in your heart, your soul.  Intimacy was born in the nights spent talking about anything and everything, opening up to one another as they lay curled in each other’s arms and in the comfortable silences that neither of them felt the need to fill.   _ This _ was what all the love songs and poems were about.  Not just the closeness of their bodies, but the closeness of their spirits, their souls.   


On bad days, they could turn to one another and seek comfort and strength.  Yuuri had his moments. Viktor did, too. When Viktor needed to be held or just needed to talk, Yuuri was always there for him.   


“I’m here, Vitya,” Yuuri whispered into his hair.   


“You’re important to me,” Yuuri said, taking Viktor into his arms and simply holding him close.

“Tell me what you need,” Yuuri said, pressing kisses against Viktor’s temple.

“I love you, Vitya,” Yuuri murmured, wiping away his tears.

No one had ever been so gentle with him before.  No one had ever made him feel so loved, so cherished.

When Yuuri needed him, Viktor was there, ready to hold him close and cuddle with him on the couch, in their bed, or in the kitchen as they cooked.   


He was there for Yuuri and Yuuri was there for him.   


Viktor had never been much of a homebody before.  But now… now he  _ wanted _ to be at home.  He wanted to be in his kitchen, cooking with Yuuri.  Or on the couch, cuddling with Yuuri. Or in bed, making love with Yuuri.

Sometimes, they went out for the evening.  They’d go see a movie or go for a walk in the park or go to a party thrown by a friend.  But honestly, Viktor was perfectly content to spend an evening at home with Yuuri. 

Viktor’s expensive and exclusive apartment had become so much more than the showpiece he’d originally intended for it to be.  Now it was a warm, welcoming space, full of love and laughter. Here was where they learned more about each other, grew closer together, comforted and cherished one another.  

This was someplace Viktor wanted to be.  

Yuuri had made his house a home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading! 
> 
> Comments are worth their weight in gold, baby...


End file.
